The Butterfly Effect
by TheQueenOfTheFoxes
Summary: One fluke of fate, and everything changes.


**Hey, everyone! I think this is like my third time rewriting this fic, but whatever! I read it today and realized it was horrible, so I rewrote it. Thanks for reading, and I enjoy reviews!**

**I don't own Harry Potter. **

Lord Voldemort looked down at the ragged, bloodstained diary in his hands. His long, pale fingers brushed the hole in the middle, and dim sparks lit as the dried blood and ink were touched. He remembered, oh, yes, he remembered, years ago, creating this object, placing a part of his soul inside it. Just one step to immortality. But that part was no more.

And as he peered curiously through his slitted eyes, he realized that though his soul no longer resided inside the worn pages, something else did.

It was too late to remove his hands, too late to stop the sparks that grew brighter, and larger, until the fire covered his entire body, and filled his ears with a sharp ringing. Too late to stop from dissolving, mist covering him, from breaking apart into millions of miniscule fragments. Too late to stop his essence from swirling like a vortex through the bloody hole in the book.

And then Voldemort was gone, and all that was left was the diary falling to the floor.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Tom Riddle stared at the bony stranger in black robes who had appeared in front of him, engulfed in orange sparks. The man straightened, and Tom saw that his face was strangely flat and his eyes… more snake's than man. This thing was unnatural, and it repulsed him.

The man, no, _thing_ stared down at him coldly, and then appeared shocked. He backed away a few steps, then spoke, and his voice was a snake's hiss, only reinforcing Tom's repulsion.

"Where am I?"

Tom stared at him, a superior expression fixed on his face. Certainly he was better than this warped monster.

"In the Forbidden Forest, where do you think? And what are you?" He purposely said "what", not "who". The thing seemed amused by it, and drew itself up.

"I am Voldemort."

Tom laughed, though he felt like cursing the thing and never coming back to the forest.

"No, I am. Is this some kind of a prank?"

"It is not," the thing sneered, "And you must be Tom Riddle. Fate is a funny thing, is it not, Tom? Tell me, what are you doing in the forest tonight?"

"Why should I tell you what I'm doing? How do you know my name, freak? Did Dumbledore send you to scare me back to the castle?" Tom's sneer matched the things, and he quickly wiped it off his face as he realized it, vowing to never make the expression again.

"Hardly. As if Dumbledore could send me anywhere." The man appeared to think back, for several seconds. "Collecting acromantula venom, are you, Tom? Yes, that will serve you well."

Tom stared at it. The thing was right. Perhaps Lestrange had let it slip. He would have words with her when he returned from this nightmare.

"How in Merlin's name did you know that?"

"I know many things, Tom. That venom will get you valuable information, best to get on with it." The thing stood there, waiting for him to go. Tom debated with himself. The venom would run dry if he didn't get there soon, it had already been twelve hours since spider's death. But if this repulsive thing was coming with him…

That venom was rare, however, and expensive.

But the white, hooded thing, with a snake's mannerisms and a man's face… the thought of being in its presence any longer made his stomach sick. There would be other opportunities to get the venom. The snake Nagini he had met in the forest would keep him posted, if he kept bringing her treats.

"Actually, I've decided not to collect the venom," Tom told the figure, backing away. Cowardly or not, he wanted _away _from this thing.

"Not collect the venom?" the thing hissed, "Absurd. Come, Tom, you need that venom."

Tom shook his head, raising his wand. The thing took a step toward him, and it was the last straw. There was something so desperately _wrong _with the mangled thing, and he turned and bolted.

The thing chased after him, but it seemed weak, and Tom was fast. He leapt over roots and rocks, and shot hexes behind him, anything to slow it down. Finally he reached the edge of the forest, and chanced a look behind him.

He had thought the thing would stop at the edge of the forest, but it did not. It glided after him, and the sight inspired such revulsion and terror that Tom actually screamed, something he was sure he had never done before

"Tom!" A figure was racing toward him, robes streaming out as someone ran down the grounds. It was a girl, and she pulled her wand out and began firing jinxes at the thing, skidding to a halt at Tom's side. It was Rosie Woods, a year below him.

"Go!" Rosie yelled, pushing Tom behind her as she also retreated. Tom snapped to his senses and joined Rosie in firing everything he had at figure, which was still following.

"What is that thing?" Rosie asked, sounding terrified.

"No idea, but we have to keep it away. It's something _bad_, it's… it's _terrible_."

The sound of uncharacteristic panic in Tom's voice obviously had an effect on the slight girl, and she continued her spell casting with renewed vigor until, when she had resorted to serious curses that she had overheard from the seventh years, the thing vanished in a shower of sparks.

The two stood still for a moment, panting, until they both bolted for the castle.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Lord Voldemort appeared in a room.

It was the same room he had disappeared from, but changed. There was furniture in it, a bed and dresser, with yellow curtains over the windows.

It was entirely different, yet it all seemed familiar somehow. He turned around and faced a large mirror, and stared at his reflection. His face was not his own. His eyes were wide and round, and his face was full and handsome; he looked like he had in his school days, if a bit older.

He walked out of the room and down the halls, strange pictures hanging along the lengths. He walked into the kitchen and saw a woman at the counter, washing dishes while a pile of tomatoes sliced themselves. The woman turned around.

"How was the office?"

With expanding shock and panic, for a split second, he understood. That venom… he had derived a potion from it, and with it had broken into the Ministry's restriction library. He had found information and instructions to make horcruxes there. But… he had chased his past self away from the venom, and so he had never split his soul. He had never become Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort.

Yes, he remembered when he had been Voldemort. It had been his nickname in school. After a year he had grown out of it, when Rosie had told him that she liked Tom better.

None of the crimes he had committed had ever happened. What _had_ he done? He couldn't seem to remember. Instead he walked up to his wife and kissed her briefly before sinking into a chair.

"Tiring. Lucius keeps trying to convince me to pass an anti-house elf act, no matter how many times I tell him that they like being servants!"

Rosie laughed, stacking plates in the cupboard.

"Jenna was floating again today. I can't get her to stop! She'll be a good Quidditch player someday."

A little redheaded girl danced into the kitchen.

"Daddy! Look what I can do!" She floated a few inches above the ground and hugged him. When she pulled away her hair had changed to pink and she had a splattering of freckles across her face.

"I like the pink," Tom told her, "But I think the green was better."

The little girl stuck her tongue out at him, and then ran out of the room, her hair changing to bright blue.

Tom smiled, suddenly struck with the realization that his life was as it was supposed to be.


End file.
